


Mycroft Holmes and his Umbrella

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mycroft has a companion, Some Plot, pwp mostly, what the heck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: How little Mycroft got himself a mate who morphed into his lifelong companion





	Mycroft Holmes and his Umbrella

“Are you sure you can go home on your own little Mikey?”

 

The chubby kid looked up at his teacher and nodded, “Yes ma’am. I can.”

 

Mrs. Mosby peered outside and cringed at the weather. It had pissed down with rain in the morning, then it had stopped but the winds had continued to lash around the town at breakneck speed. Now a light drizzle had begun to fall and it was so dark outside that it appeared to be 9 in the evening instead of 1 in the afternoon. “A storm is coming up, the roads are deserted and it’s drizzling. Any moment it could break out into a serious outpour. Wait here till the storm passes?”

 

Nine year old Mycroft’s stomach growled. “Um….no ma’am, mummy will be worried. Plus I have a two year old cranky little bro who needs to be babysat while she prepares lunch. I have to go now.”

 

“Awww, look at little dutiful you. All right, be careful okay? I don’t want my most brilliant student to fall sick and miss classes.”

 

“I sure won’t ma’am.”

 

Five minutes later Mycroft Holmes had begun to regret his decision. Rain had come down in buckets and he huddled under the canopy of a closed shop, wet, cold and miserable. But then what could he do? His mummy had promised him one of her fabulous homemade lemon cakes and he was so eager for it that he had even brought up the excuse of babysitting his brother Sherlock in order to get his teacher to agree. Not that he didn’t babysit the little monster, but that wasn’t the real reason he was heading home in this horrendous weather.

 

A tall burly man in a heavy raincoat came into view, surprisingly steady on his feet and totally unaffected by the weather. As he walked past the shop where Mycroft was huddled down, he stopped and gave Mycroft a strange look.

 

“Don’t you have an umbrella boy?”

 

“No….No….I don’t.”

 

“Do you not know that in a country like ours with its fickle weather, your umbrella can be your best buddy at all times?”

 

“Yes…yes sir it is.”

 

“Here, take this.”

 

He thrust a rather nice look umbrella into Mycroft’s hands, “Keep this.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have the money for this,” Mycroft was not used to freebies. He didn’t want to accept charity from strangers either.

 

“My dear little man of principles,” the amused man knelt on the wet sidewalk to get his face to the little boy’s eye-level, “It’s okay to break the rules and take a few risks in desperate circumstances. Desperate circumstances call for desperate measures and you look pretty desperate to me! Now take this like a wise little man that you are and run home. I don’t need the money because I am neither poorly nor is this the only brolly I have. I shall consider it my good deed for the day.”

 

With that he abruptly got back to his feet and strode away briskly, leaving Mycroft standing there with the umbrella in his arms.

 

“Wow,” the Holmes boy said, “That was weird.”

 

Yet, as he looked at the umbrella, beautifully crafted with a white ornate handle, a shiny long stem and the canopy colored in white and bonny blue. It was marvelous, a little heavy but then in this stormy weather it felt like a best friend to Mycroft. He opened it with a flourish and it popped all around him like a cocooning mother hen, protecting his head immediately from the spray while its smooth handle felt like the assuring caress of a buddy. Mycroft gripped it tighter and began to walk, confidence lacing his steps, a small smile spreading on to his chubby little cute face.

 

“I will give you a name,” he whispered as he spotted his house in the distance, “Mate. Your name is Mate.”

 

***

 

“Mycroft,” pretty ginger head Keira snuggled up to him, “That was awesome.”

 

“I told you nothing but the best for me, or from me,” Mycroft was smug. This was his third girlfriend in three years and he was only seventeen. That roll in the haystack on her father’s horse farm was incredible, though Mycroft was a bit disgusted by her loud wailing.

 

“I wonder why your annoying little brother has to tag along with us everywhere we go though,” she complained, lighting up a cigarette and taking a drag before passing it on to him, “Believe me I tried to like him, been trying for six months, but how can you like a boy who plays such cruel pranks on you? He somehow found out about my nip-slip moment and tattled it out in front of my friends. He even tells me what I ate for breakfast the moment he sees me. Very fishy and very annoying, though I have to admit he is very pretty.”

 

“Believe me, I know. I have been trying to like him for the last ten years he has walked on this earth.”

 

“Hey, I can hear shouts…..Mycroft something is wrong….what did your brother do this time?”

 

Mycroft heard the sounds too and groaned. Someone was yelling, things were breaking, he could hear hurried footsteps and amidst all that Sherlock swearing loudly. Why did he have to save Sherlock’s arse every time he got tangled into something troublesome? Why did he have to snare himself into traps that he couldn’t yet ease himself out of? But then….he was the big brother and he had his duties. Otherwise both mummy and daddy would call him irresponsible and he hated being called so. “Okay,” he got up, “Get into your clothes and let’s see what he’s been up to. Whatever it is, I will set it right.”

 

When they emerged from their hiding place, they instantly realized it was not Sherlock’s fault. On the other hand, the little sleuth had discovered that there was a thief amongst the retainers on that farm and the culprit had stolen Keira’s mother’s neckpiece and Mycroft’s expensive watch, which he had carelessly left next to the pool. “Stop him,” Sherlock yelled as he and a couple of ranch hands chased after the culprit, an incredibly swift young man in a hoodie, “He’s getting away.”

 

Mycroft knew he had only one chance. He also had his trusted umbrella.

 

“Unnggrrhhhhh.”

 

The culprit was on the ground, knocked out of breath and gagging. Mycroft had stopped him by snagging him by the neck using his curvy umbrella handle.

 

“Oh my hero,” Keira hugged him.

 

“Myc,” Sherlock warned, “Don’t believe her. She still talks to her ex.”

 

“How could you lie like that?” Keira was shocked.

 

Mycroft gave her a cold look, “Here is your thief and your mother’s neckpiece. By the way, my brother might be an annoying little jerk but he is no liar. You are two-timing me and your ex, Harry isn’t he? Well, thanks for the service ma’am but I am so done here.”

 

On their way back home, Mycroft whispered “Thanks darling. Darling! Yes, that’s your name now. My earlier one was mate, you are my darling.”

 

“Myc stop it,” Sherlock shrieked, “You’re freaking me out.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You were talking to that thing….your umbrella!”

 

In a flash Mycroft had picked little Sherlock up and held him upside down. “Now remember this brother mine, you can do anything you wish to and I might just forgive you if they are ‘bad-bad’ things. But you call my umbrella ‘it’ and you had it. Understand?”

 

***

 

“Oh come on Dr. Watson,” Mycroft nodded briefly at his housekeeper as she served tea and cake in the grandiose sitting room of the elder Holmes’ plush mansion, “Sexuality can sometimes be fluid and changeable. Our cases are so similar. I was supposedly straight till I found I could have bisexual leanings and finally I settled on being ‘leaning towards gay’. You were straight too but that could be due to a lack of opportunities or because the right person hadn’t come along. If Sherlock makes you feel like a boyfriend then don’t fight those feelings, embrace them.”

 

“You are right,” John replied, “He is the right person.”

 

Mycroft gave a righteous smile and continued in a sanctimonious tone, “Everyone needs a companion in their lives, someone they can trust and come home to, someone who’d never judge them beyond a point, someone who would forgive them no matter what kind of mistakes they make……basically somebody to share their lives and beds with. Sherlock and you have been through a lot together and if that’s brought you closer, then more power to you two. When is the happy announcement?”

 

“Soon,” John blushed, “I hope. By the way Mike…”

“Yes?”

 

“If companionship is so important then why are you alone?”

 

“Who said I am?”

 

John startled.

 

An hour later, Mycroft stared at his umbrella. With affluence, success and power had come the desire to own one of the world’s most expensive umbrellas. Now he was the proud owner of a Prince of Wales Malacca Umbrella. It was a refined Malacca cane, two-piece Thomas Brigg umbrella, with a unique sterling silver nose cap and collar. The umbrella canopy was made of hand-woven silk, adhered to a 27" rib frame of high tensile strength.

 

It had knocked him back by thirteen hundred quid but he didn’t care. It was worth it, owning such a masterpiece.

 

“Pride,” he smiled at it, “Your name is so apt, you are my pride.”

 

He marveled at it as he caressed it. The perfect companion for the newly promoted boss of MI5 and MI6, the most powerful man in England and indeed one of the most well-connected men in the world.

 

***

 

“Rubbish Gavin, you are so mistaken about my brother,” Sherlock spoke in his usual baritone, laced with sarcasm and dripping with connotations, “He might be a cold fish with the biggest ego the world has ever had a chance to spot and he could be a mean, selfish controlling prick from time to time but he is not a cheat. If he had committed to you he would have honored that. You misunderstood him completely. Now look at it this way, did you see any signs of an intruder or a visitor in the bedroom? Any at all?”

 

“None,” Greg Lestrade said, “But it’s no use Sherlock. Your brother and I are done, over. Thought it changes nothing about the way we work, please do not advocate his cause with me anymore. And by the way, the name is Gregory or Greg and not Gavin.”

 

Lestrade stormed out of the flat in a huff, leaving Sherlock and John alone. The doctor immediately looked at his boyfriend and colleague and said, “I told you last year, even before Greg and Myc had started dating, that Mycroft had a companion/boyfriend. He had personally told me that. I saw the affection ad pride on his face when he spoke of them and now Greg’s allegations seem to ring true to me. You’re defending your brother because he is that…..your brother, your kin. Isn’t it?”

 

“Mycroft is incapable of having a steady connection or proper feelings for anything that moves and breathes,” Sherlock concluded.

 

“I suppose that is your observation.”

 

“Nope. This time it’s just a gut feeling.”

 

“The great Holmes relying on his gut?”

 

“Well, we could turn tables on him and observe him. That way we can be proved right one way or the other.”

 

John narrowed his eyes, “You mean spy on him?”

 

Sherlock shrugged, “Problem?”

 

“I dunno,” John was clearly uncomfortable, “Maybe in a few days. Let me think through this. He is the head of MI6 for Christ’s sake, not just your brother. This could have repercussions.”

 

“Okay, take your time,” Sherlock snickered, “Myc will be out of country for a while but when he returns, we will have to do this. Now I am keen. I want to prove my point. He is bluffing and I shall prove that.”

 

“Well, if you insist.”

 

***

 

The room was bathed in the soft glow of candles and the silk duvet on the king -size bed was covered with rose petals. A very pleasant flowery whiff lingered in the air and soft music played, chosen carefully to suit the company he had that night. This was a night Mycroft had been waiting for, after months apart from his on-again, off-again lover. He sat on the bed, clad in silk pajama bottoms, waiting eagerly for his lover to emerge from the bathroom after a nice, long, hot shower.

 

Gosh, how long did it take for a man to take a shower???

 

Finally the dark haired, dark eyed, gorgeous man emerged from the bathroom as naked as the day he was born. Mycroft held his breath, lest it came out in a gasp. Slender, smooth sun-kissed skin, so attractive and effortlessly sexy and now smelling like fresh rain and a garden in full bloom after the bath, his lover paraded his nude form by padding across the room to the dressing table where he stood before the mirror and began to comb his hairs. Mycroft sighed.

 

“JAMES?”

 

“Why are you so loud?”

 

“Because you are so far.”

 

“Eager, are we?”

 

“It’s not often that I get to spend a night with the Napoleon of crime.”

 

Jim Moriarty climbed into bed in the most seductive manner while Mycroft poured champagne into two goblets and picked up the little trough of strawberries for his lover. Suddenly Jim shot out of bed, rubbing his shapely tushy with both hands, a pained expression on his face.

 

“Owwwww.”

 

“What happened? Oh….so sorry, so sorry, are you ok James?”

 

“Yeah, but that thing poked me in the butt…..Mycroft, what is an umbrella doing in the bed, under the covers?”

 

“I….his name is James.”

 

“JAMES?”

 

Jim Moriarty’s expression went from mildly confused and pained to outrage and purple anger. “That means you were checking if the God damned brolly is okay or not and not me? I almost got impaled on it and you couldn’t be bothered by that. You are a family of weirdo’s, get that? The sister wants me as a Christmas pressie, the younger brother talks to a skull and older brother sleeps with an umbrella. I agree today, I am indeed a madman, why the hell did I even bother to have an affair with you…..you…..you pathetic piece of junk.”

 

“You aren’t here often,” Mycroft was on the backfoot, “You’ve been playing hide and seek with me. At first you said I was too demanding and needed a break. When I was dating Greg I was monogamous and you kept messaging me then. After we broke up you went silent and refused all my requests to meet. That’s why I replaced you with…..”

 

“With an UMBRELLA???”

 

“Umbrellas are faithful companions. James….Jim….no….!!!”

 

***

 

“Gosh, I can’t watch anymore, nor can I hear,” John ripped the earphones off and looked away, “Sherlock stop it. I can’t believe we are watching your brother and Moriarty having sex.” On the small screen two figures moved on the bed, Mycroft on his back and Jim riding him.

 

Sherlock rubbed his hands in glee, eyes shining with delight.

 

“You realize John that I was always right, like I always am,” the detective was literally twirling around in joy, “I had a hunch about this but I needed more proof. Well, I have that proof now. Mycroft’s lifelong faithful companion isn’t a man or a woman or even a dog. It’s an umbrella. It’s a fucking brolly…..hahahahaha…..ohhhh….hohohohoho……can’t breathe…..ouch my stomach is cramping up but this is soooo funny. I also loved the way Jim threw the umbrella to one corner of the room after giving Myc a whack on the arm with it.”

 

“You always had a hunch?” John started to chuckle a bit too. So that’s why Mycroft always had that umbrella? He remembered the first time he had met Mycroft at that warehouse. How the man leaned on his umbrella, legs crossed, like he was literally dependent on it.

 

“As a kid I was not even allowed to touch his umbrellas and every time one went bad or broke, he mourned it. It was like he had lost someone he loved.”

 

“Gosh. Poor Lestrade. He broke up with Mycroft over an umbrella?”

 

“Lestrade is an idiot at work and in relationships. He must have heard Myc speak to his brolly and never bothered to check with his own eyes. Serves him right. But I was right, I told you Myc can’t be in love with something that moves and breathes. No wonder he is attached to an inanimate object, the umbrella, an umbrella!!! Oh….Shhh, look, they’re done and Myc has gone to sleep. But Jim is awake….Jawn, Jim is up to something. He just got up and got out of bed.”

 

John clasped his mouth in shock. “So I see. Look, he has taken out his lighter and what is that, is it petrol? A can of petrol? Oh darn…..He is burning the umbrella Sherlock.”

 

***

 

Mycroft sat in his conservatory, sipping his tea and staring at the backyard where all kinds of colorful blooms and fresh herbs grew. But the summer weather or the splendid sunlight did nothing to lift his mood. He felt lonely, abandoned, hurt and butchered in the gut. Though none of those feelings registered on his face and he knew he would be able to master those negatives and get on with his life, it did stab him repeatedly in the heart that Jim had not just left him a note saying they were ‘over’ but also burned his beloved brolly ‘James’ to ashes. Just to spite him.

 

Only James Moriarty was capable of such venom after the kind of hot sex they had the night before.

 

He could use his tricks and connections and lure Jim back into his arms but the brolly, his custom-made brolly, how was he going to replace the precious thing. His heart bled as he imagined how much it must have suffered while it got scorched in those cruel, merciless flames. This was the day he truly felt Moriarty was a heartless fiend. But then, life had to go on. Just like it had gone on despite the fact that James’ predecessors, Mate, Darling and Pride had also reached the end of their shelf-life. But none of them had met a violent end like James.

 

“Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes?”

“Your brother….”

 

“No, I am not in the mood. Not today.”

 

“He left this for you.”

 

Mycroft looked up. His housekeeper was holding a rather long package. “What is it?” He asked as he took it and read the note attached to it.

 

“No idea. But he said it’s a gift.”

 

The note was a simple handwritten scrawl and it said _‘Open the gift with your trademark reptilian smile – John’._

 

Mycroft was relieved. If John was involved then there were no tricks involved. With Sherlock, one could never be sure.

 

He unwrapped the package and, true to what John had written, a big smile formed on his usual icy and expressionless face. It was a bespoke umbrella in charcoal grey, with a large canopy and sturdy ribs and stem, a pure silver and wooden handle with ornate work on it. It was classy, elegant, strong and yet lightweight and artistic in its look and feel. Mycroft’s smile broadened when he saw that the umbrella had a hidden gun inside the handle, a capability of shooting tiny darts through the ferrule and a fencing sword concealed under its stem. It was not just an umbrella, it was a weapon. And yet, there were Swarovski crystals on it, making it look like a real piece of art.

 

Mycroft caressed the umbrella and placed it carefully on the patio chair next to him. He had to give it a name. It deserved a nice meaningful name, just like his predecessors who got their names from the phase of life Mycroft was going through. As a kid he had ‘mate’ because a friend was important. As a teen he had ‘darling’ because a lover was important. As a man in his twenties he had ‘Pride’ because being proud and confident was a must. In his thirties he had ‘James’ but now James and he were over and he was in his forties….so…..he quickly picked up the umbrella again.

 

As he opened the brolly, a second note fell out from it. This was not from John, this was from his bro.

 

_‘Umbrellas named after criminals meet violent ends. Name this one carefully – Sherlock.’_

 

“Wait what,” Mycroft jumped up from his chair, “How the hell did he know? Oh dearie me, he spied on me and James? He actually saw us…..oh mummy, how will you defend him now? I am going to complain right away that……”

 

He quickly dug out his mum’s number on his phone but before he could call her his phone chimed loudly. It was a text from Sherlock.

_‘Sorry about last night. Try to forgive and forget, since we are brothers and stuck to each other for the rest of our lives. Unfortunate truth – SH.’_

 

“Stuck to each other for the rest of our lives,” Mycroft rubbed his chin, thinking hard, “This sounds familiar, yes, of course, yes, just like I would want my umbrella to stick to me. No diversions, no parting ways, this one should stay with me forever. Aha!”

 

He patted the brolly, closed it and put it back on the chair. “Welcome home Sherlock.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little laugh after some serious stories I am writing here


End file.
